


Security Blanket

by deinvati



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Literal as well as figurative, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, bedsharing fest 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 08:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18634519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: Arthur comes back to his hotel room with one thought: sleep.  But someone is in his hotel room when he gets there.





	Security Blanket

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Zigster for suggesting the fest, and to queuebird for the beta!! You're both fabulous additions to this fandom and I'm lucky to have you. HUGS!

Two weeks of dragging himself back to his hotel room at—Arthur checked his watch—9:32 pm, pulling 18-hour days topside and subsisting off mediocre sub sandwiches. Thank Christ this was almost over. His knee ached from that time it had gotten hit with a pipe in Kiev, and the effort of keeping his shoe from scuffing as he walked to his door was the most his body could handle tonight. For a moment, he considered leaning against the wall as he went, the way he had so many times as a child, the steeper the angle, the more fun it was.

Arthur straightened and brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder, frowning at his mental weakness. Still, the minibar and memory foam called to him as he fumbled for his room key card.

His fingers stilled on his wallet and his eyes locked on the "Do Not Disturb" sign, one corner tucked into the door jamb. It had been hanging straight when he left this morning, he was sure of it.

Arthur grabbed the gun from his shoulder holster, senses on high alert. He checked the hallway, exits, and windows before he pressed an ear to the door. He couldn't hear anything from the other side, but he cursed his complacency. It only took one fuck-up to end a month-long job, and he knew it well. This could be anything.

He mentally retraced his steps from the conference space he'd been working in at the same time he flipped through his list of potential threats on this job. A Russian gangster, waiting with a silencer on the other side? The mark's angry ex-girlfriend or resigned ex-wife? The architect he'd been introduced to with a hole in his job history the size of the Bering Strait?

He scanned his key card, the lock releasing with a  _clunk_ , and held his breath.

A hail of bullets didn't burst through the wood, so he eased the door open further, his body pressed tightly to the wall.

No light spilled into the hallway, but the rattle of the fan, previously turned off, made the hair on the back of his neck rise. He revised his previous threat list to include the sweaty mark himself and eased into the room, gun steady.

He scanned the corners as his eyes adjusted, clearing the bathroom first. There was a man laying on the bed, a massive shape facing away from him, a corner of the blanket drawn around his shoulders. At first glance, it appeared he'd been lying in wait for Arthur and accidentally fallen asleep.

Arthur couldn't see much except the top of a head with buzzed hair and the size of hired muscles which cost extra. Apparently, that cost didn't cover the requirement to stay awake on a job though. Arthur's eyes narrowed. Sloppy.

He caught the barest whiff of gasoline as he eased closer to the bed, and he stiffened further. Setting fire to a murder scene in a hotel didn't clear out evidence. It brought witnesses. And the police. Who wanted him publicly dead?

Arthur's mental list of threats shifted from the current job to an entirely different list of suspects and dread cooled in his gut. He should shoot first and ask questions later. The universe didn't hand out luck very often, and getting the drop on the person sent to kill you seemed like the best kind of luck.

Arthur didn't have a silencer and calculated the chances of getting out of this hotel unnoticed as extremely unlikely, but pressed the muzzle against the neck rolls peeking over the edge of the blanket anyway. The man didn't move.

Arthur gritted his teeth and pulled back the hammer. "Wake the fuck up."

That finally caused the bulk in his bed to jerk.

"Who sent you?" Arthur gritted out, the low growl of his voice loud in the darkness.

There was a long silence and Arthur pressed the gun in harder.

Then a sleep-fuzzy, "Alright, Arthur?"

Arthur pulled his hand away like he'd been burned. "Eames?!"

The bulk with Eames' voice moved. "Yeah, mate, 's me."

Arthur drew in a shaky breath and re-holstered his gun like he could pretend he hadn't just threatened Eames. Fucking  _Eames_. In his  _bed._  Looking like a rumpled mountain and smelling like an explosion and laying in his  _BED._

Eames eased over onto his back and Arthur took in his shorn hair, beard, and added thickness. It had been longer than he'd realized. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked. In my bed, he added silently. Because Eames was in his bed.

"Sorry, love," Eames mumbled, dragging a hand down his face and looking more tired than Arthur felt. "Was gonna wait for you, but 's been a long day."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed numbly, still trying to make sense of why that would mean Eames would be here.

"Was gonna shower," Eames said, his hand gesturing toward the bathroom and then falling heavily back onto the blanket. "But…"

Eames' eyes drifted closed again on their own and Arthur swallowed. "Yeah." He looked around the room, feeling much smaller suddenly. "Okay."

Eames' breathing was already slower again, deep and even and starting to rattle a bit, and Arthur didn't know what to do with his hands. His heart was still jackrabbiting in his chest and the adrenaline dump in his veins was making him jittery. He moved to the other side of the bed and switched on the small lamp. The light made Eames jerk again, his eyes flying open and trying to focus on Arthur.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah, Eames," he said, even as Eames' eyes closed again.

"Mmm. Sorry," he mumbled, drifting off before he could say what he was sorry for.

Arthur looked at him, face softened enough to show the clean lines around his eyes where he'd been squinting. The hairs around his mouth moved with his breath, and Arthur's chest ached with it. It had been two fucking weeks since he'd seen a friendly face, and if Eames felt like Arthur's hotel room was where he'd be out of danger when he literally couldn't keep his eyes open, Arthur couldn't find it in him to kick him out.

"It's okay," Arthur murmured to Eames' sleeping face. And then he straightened. It  _was_ okay.

Arthur unholstered his gun for the second time and set it carefully on the bedside table, next to the pilfered housekeeping key Eames had used. He couldn't stop the smile it caused, the thought of an exhausted Eames pickpocketing a keycard without breaking a sweat and stumbling to his room.

Eames' heavy breaths reminded Arthur how exhausted he was himself. He glanced at the minibar, so prominent in his plans less than five minutes ago, but now it just seemed like an extra step he had to take. With a nod to himself, he maneuvered quietly around the room, hanging his suit jacket and brushing his teeth. He leaned on the doorframe as he brushed, studying Eames' sleeping form. His boots were getting dirt all over the comforter. He looked like he'd fallen over and hadn't moved since.

Arthur changed quickly into the soft drawstring pants he slept in and turned off the lights as he walked toward the bed. It seemed much smaller with a bulked up Eames laying in the exact center. First things first, he unlaced each of Eames' boots and tried to ease them off.

Eames grunted and struggled to sit up, looking confused. Arthur shushed him but helped him sit, and Eames blinked blearily at him while Arthur knelt, taking off his shoes and lifting the covers for Eames to climb in.

Eames slid in, then immediately turned on his side again and was quiet, but his breaths didn't fall into the sleeping rhythm they had before. Arthur moved to the other side of the bed and switched off the light, holding his breath as he pulled back the blankets.

Eames was quiet as Arthur lay down. He turned away from Eames and trying not to notice how their calves brushed each other, or how Eames' dusty, smoky smell was enveloping him. Arthur stayed very still, willing his muscles to relax, his entire being focused on the person five inches behind him.

Then, with a snuffle and a sigh, Eames rolled closer to him and draped an arm around his waist. Arthur jumped slightly, but it didn't stop Eames from tucking his nose into Arthur's hairline and humming. Arthur noticed it was the same spot he'd pressed the muzzle of his gun to Eames' head.

Suddenly, Arthur was warm, and weighted down, and  _not alone_. He blinked into the darkness as Eames' breaths slowed again, gusting across his bare shoulders and soothing him. It felt… good. Comfortable, and easy, and undeniably  _right._  Even though Eames had come here looking for a measure of protection, it was Arthur who felt safe. He relaxed back into the wall of muscle surrounding him and let out a breath. Then another.

Between one breath and the next, as Arthur surrendered himself to sleep, his ears caught Eames' whisper.

"Goodnight, darling."

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
